


patchwork

by sunflowercaptain



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Post-Season 2, a dramatic mess in general, just 6k of self-indulgence disguised as 'character introspection', mike loves his friends but hes kind of a mess about it sometimes, theres some hint of romance if u squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 15:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15561336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowercaptain/pseuds/sunflowercaptain
Summary: He doesn’t exactly feel sick, but cold inside. Hollow. It’s like simultaneously feeling everything (relief, sickness, wistfulness) and nothing all at once.Absentmindedly, Mike thought,I should remember that so I can write it down sometime. Could use it in a story.-There's about six weeks in between the night he got El back and the night of the Snow Ball. Mike spends them mostly drifting in between confusion and a sense of detachment. He doesn't really understand why it doesn't feel like everything's back to normal, or at least that he's got everything figured out now that El's back. It should.





	patchwork

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so I was going through my files while writing a short oneshot for something else, and I found this little monster (which was at 8k originally) and decided to post it after cleaning it up and deleting a lot, hahaha. I've always been writing little snippets and stuff for different fandoms, but this was the most I've written, I think.  
> I can't exactly remember what was going through my mind when I wrote this, but I think I just wanted to read something tackling those weeks after season 2 that was more about what Mike was feeling as an...individual, if that makes sense? Like, a look more into how strange it must've been trying to slip back into normal life again, with El back but feeling weird about how he's messed up still. Idk, when I was his age I was just this huge mess of emotions and that's without detached parents and bloodthirsty demogorgons, lmao.
> 
> So yeah, basically this is just random scenes from that six-week period thrown together with the barest of coherence, really, with A LOT of Mike crying which is something I just noticed. Poor Mike. What was I thinking. I swear I wasn't intending to write him crying that much, Jesus took the wheel or something.  
> On an additional note, there isn't much of Will in this. In my head Will spent a lot of time at home after the thing (partly due to his own choice, partly due to Joyce--but that's another story I wouldn't do much justice to.) Also I have no idea how betas or proofreading in fandom works ~~aND IM TERRIBLY SHY AND AWKWARD SO IT TAKES ME A LOT TO EVEN LIKE APPROACH SOMEONE OR LEAVE A COMMENT AHDKHSKAJSKZ.~~ how to talk to ppl instead of writing long ass notes on fanfic
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!! I hope. Comments are welcomed with arms as wide as the pacific ocean (be gentle pls this is my first st fic)

Getting Eleven back was supposed to have changed everything.

Well, it did, but not in the way Mike always imagined it would. Over the course of the year of El’s absence, Mike’s idle daydreams had ranged from unbelievably corny, melodramatic reunions (and the subsequent bliss and romcom-esque scenes of the days that followed) to sobbing over discovering Eleven’s mangled body in the forest somewhere. Let it be known that Mike Wheeler had always had an overactive imagination.

Since El had gone back to her cabin with Hopper on Monday afternoon, everyone had split ways and returned to life as it was before the Mind Flayer. Karen had only mildly scolded Mike and Nancy when they had returned with half-assed excuses, reminding them to remember to call if they were going to be staying longer at a friend’s house. Ted hadn’t even acknowledged the absence when they saw him at dinner.

It was significantly different from last year. Mike kind of felt sad about it. At least last year he was still able to hug his mom and cry his eyes out into her shirt and blame it on the government. 

**i.**

A week after El’s return, Mike fell back into old habits and faked a stomachache to stay home from school. After a year of what he thought were strategically placed “day offs” as he’d begun to call them in his head, Karen just sighed and told him “Do what you want, Michael,” and he just squeaked out a weak protest and darted back into his room.

Back in the sixth grade and well into the seventh, Mike often got into trouble for staying up late or getting up too early. It showed in his pale pallor and gigantic eyebags (not as bad as Jonathan’s, though.), but Mike just had too much to do, too many ideas to write down, too much books to read not even including schoolwork. Sleeping felt like a waste of time back then.

Right now it seemed like all he ever seemed to do was sleep. 

After 1983, the campaigns gradually lessened as Mike would beg off, having not touched his D&D notebook in days. Eventually Dustin, Lucas and Will had turned to the new arcade that opened that year, and that had been just fine for Mike. Staying off to the side and cheering Dustin and Lucas on as they beat high score after high score felt less draining than arranging a whole campaign. D&D night turned into Palace Arcade night. 

Sometimes, he missed game night, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up and actually write something. 

Burrowing back into the covers, Mike listened to the distant chatter of his mother on the phone.

I’ll take out the notebook later and try to write something. Or do homework, he told himself.

_Friends don’t lie_ , said a tiny little voice in the back of his head as he pulls the covers back over his head. It kind of sounded like Eleven.

**ii.**

Honestly, Mike actually thought Max was pretty cool. Especially after watching her march up to Billy Hargrove and stab a tranquilizer in his neck.

Not that he could ever say it to her face, though. Looking at her meant remembering that he’d called her annoying, that he’d yelled at her a couple of times and that he’d been an idiot in general. On Wednesday, once most of them had returned to school Mike had sat off to the side at lunch and breaktime, letting Lucas and Dustin converse with Max while he pretended to be busy with homework or a book. It just kind of ended up being that way for the rest of the time. 

They had English class together, but usually they’d sit on opposite ends of the classroom and whatever conversation they’d have would be awkward and stilted as hell. It would probably bother Mike a lot more, enough into actually doing something about it, if he wasn’t too busy overthinking and punishing himself into silence. Also, it just meant he had to go and admit he was a big stupid mouthbreather, and he would wince just thinking about it.

It kind came to a head about two weeks into Mike’s “pretend it never happened and I don’t know her” routine.

Max spared no time pouncing on the elephant in the room when the opportunity presented itself. Once Mike had accidentally hit her in the shin under the table when he stretched out his legs and mumbled a barely comprehensible “sorry”, Max blurted out the words:

“Look, I know we’re not best friends forever or anything but it would nice if we could actually have a decent conversation once in a while.”

Mike looked up from his book, eyeing Max over at the opposite side of the lunch table. They were the only two who showed up to the table today; Mike knew Will didn’t go to school because of another panic attack, but he had no idea about Lucas or Dustin.

“We talk,” he sighed, watching her eyebrow raise, “ _We talk._ Sometimes. On the way to English class and on the way home and stuff.”  
“Only to ask about homework.”

Mike didn’t have much to say to that. 

“Alright, well, we’re talking now.”

Max rolled her eyes and huffed. Mike could understand Lucas’ hatred for his own eye rolls now. “Listen, Wheeler, what’s your problem? After all that crap with the—“ Mike widened his eyes at her and pointedly nodded in the direction of the multitude of students around them, “Relax. The, _you know_ , I thought you’d actually be okay with me in your party.”

“Okay, first off, it’s the party, okay, it’s not my party. Dustin would go on about democracy and all that stuff for like half an hour if he heard you saying that. Second of all,” He probably sounded snotty and condescending or something. Like Nancy talked to him sometimes. That wasn’t good. He winced internally. Mike glanced down at his book and took note of the page number before closing it and setting it aside, “I am okay with you being in the party.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I am,” said Mike. “I just. . .I don’t know. It’s been like a week, Max. I’m not exactly over everything.”

“Lucas said now that El’s back, you’d be, I don’t know, the old Mike or something.”

“The old Mike?”

“Dungeon Master Mike or whatever you do in that stupid board game. Lucas said you were, um, kind of different last year.”

“I was. I guess. I guess it’s a little hard to go back after. You know.”

Max was silent for a while. Just as Mike thought of opening his book again— _page 204,_ —Max crossed her arms and rested them on the table. “Flowers for Algernon, huh?”

Taken aback a little, Mike coughed, “What? Uh. Yeah. It’s. . .It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, I liked how they wrote it in like, his diary entries. It really hits hard, when you see the first grammar and spelling errors coming back.”

“You’ve read it?” This time, when Max rolled her eyes Mike flushed with embarrassment. “Hey, it’s not like I’ve seen you walking around with anything but your skateboard.”

“Yeah, and that’s all there is to me?” Mike was surprised to see a teasing smile directed at him. “I do things that aren’t skating. You like reading?”

“Yeah, I started this one last night and I had to finish it.” 

They discussed the book a little more, and after a while Mike swallowed the guilt and his words come out easier and freely, although the memories still sting at the back of his head. When the bell rung and it was time to walk back to English class, Mike and Max actually walked together to the classroom for the first time. 

“Hey,” He interrupted her midway through something about A Wrinkle in Time, “You know, I wasn’t like, being mean or anything—I mean, I was, but it was because. . .I don’t. I don’t really. . .either the other guys, mostly Dustin have always been there to like, sort of push me into apologizing. For stuff. And I don’t know, I thought it’s be better if I just. . .let them talk to you and pretend I wasn’t there. So. . .I’m sorry. For everything. Really. Um.”

He had been thinking about it for weeks, about talking about that day in the gym or what he’d said to her at the Byers’, but once he was in the actual conversation he tripped up on all of his words. How much of it would be apologizing and how much would be just him sounding like he was coming up with excuses? He didn’t know.

His eyes flitted from person to person, object to object before finally coming back to glance at Max. There was an unreadable expression on her face, and Mike cringed, thinking back to that part where he admitted that people have to push him into apologizing for crappy things may have sounded a bit too much like he was a total mouthbreather. 

“Okay, Wheeler—Mike. I kinda get it. You were seriously a big jerk but looking back at everything. . .let’s just start over, I guess.”

Mike nodded. “Um, yeah, okay. You don’t have to call me Mike though, that felt weird.”

“Yeah, I felt weird saying it.”

"Yeah. . .”

“Before we officially start over, I’d just like to say that that was the most awkward apology I’ve ever heard.”

Mike actually laughed at that.

The weight hadn’t completely been lifted from his shoulders yet, but he walked out of the school feeling a little lighter than before. And a couple of days later after that conversation, Mike has to admit it was worth it to see the looks on Lucas and Dustin’s faces when Max punched him in the shoulder and handed over his copy of The Turning Point before walking to homeroom, saying “Alright, Wheeler, it was pretty interesting, despite the clear evidence of nerd written all over it.”

**iii.**

On a Friday, after watching Dustin surpass Lucas on Dig Dug after three whole hours, Mike came home to his mother sitting on the couch with a bottle of wine.

“Um, hey, yeah, I’m sorry. I should’ve called. We were trying to top this high score—“

“It’s okay.” Holly was on her left, enraptured by the discovery that she could draw on her picture books with crayons. The development being only a week old, Karen would often halfheartedly try to talk her into drawing on clean paper. Now, she was staring tiredly down into a half glass of wine, the liquid sloshing around as she moved the glass. 

“Uh.” Mike was at a loss. He had felt uneasy and halfway between happy and out of place the whole of those three hours, watching Lucas and Dustin trash talk each other over the Dig Dug machine console and keeping up an awkward conversation about art class with Will. His friends made him happy but overall he just wasn’t in the mood. He wasn’t in the mood a lot these days. He had a feeling Will wasn’t either, but Dustin seemed determined to keep up the good spirits no matter what and Lucas was more than willing to play along.

Often after times like this, Mike would brush off his mother’s reprimands with what he hoped looked like a sheepish smile, rushing up the stairs to his room halfway through an apology. Now, watching his mother’s sad slumped position on the couch, he sat down gingerly on her right.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” His mother frowned, placing the glass on the coffee table. She folded her hands and placed them in his lap. “I wish you’d remember to call more often.”

“Sorry,” Mike cringed, knowing his mother hated the word but not knowing what else to say. “It just slipped my mind.”

“It just seems sadder when you put it like that, Michael.”

“Mom.”

Holly babbled nonsensically, practically pounding the green crayon into Mike’s old dinosaur picture book.

Karen sighed. Mike could smell the wine and hoped she wasn’t drunk. He’d only seen that once and it had been terrible. “Your father isn’t joining us for dinner, neither is Nancy.”  
“Why not Dad?”

“His coworkers invited him for dinner. Rose or something’s birthday celebration.”

“He doesn’t usually go to those.”

“This whole promotion business has him rattled, his boss wants him to be more sociable.”

Mike was doubtful about the whole “rattled” thing, considering what he’d been seeing of his dad lately. Not that he hadn’t seen him that much. Back then, when he was around ten or eleven, he’d make an effort to join his dad for his daily routine of TV before bed, even begging his Mom to take him to the video store so he could pick out a couple of titles he thought his dad would like. He used to make a big deal out of it back then, trying to get everyone in the family to join in. After hitting twelve, he’d mostly given up after his mother had continuously snapped at him that she had household chores to finish before bed (that he didn’t help much with, not to mention) and his sister had gotten fed up and told him to stop “ _guilt tripping_ ” her and let her do her “ _do her own thing, God, Mike._ ” 

Needless to say, Wheeler “Movie Night” had been a short-lived, unsuccessful attempt at family unity.

Mike muses about how “rattled” Ted must be and if he might make more of an effort to socialize with his children if his boss made a comment about it.

“We got into a fight about it,” said his mother.

“. . .Oh.” said Mike, looking down at his lap, folding his hands into his lap and unconsciously mimicking his mother’s position. “Was it bad?”

“I don’t know, it was earlier when he called to let me know.” Mom wasn’t looking at him, making an annoyed sound as she finally tried to stop Holly from completely ruining the picture book. At the beginnings of a whine that would eventually evolve into a tantrum, she gave up and let Holly have the crayon back. Mike resisted the urge to snap at his four-year-old sister, seeing his mother’s eyes begin to water. Shit.

“It’ll be okay—“

“If you haven’t noticed, your father and I have done nothing but fight for the past few years.”

Mike floundered for something to say. His parents hardly ever get into shouting matches, but he’s felt the cold and tense atmosphere. He just hadn’t gave it much mind. He was kind of used to it.

“I wanted to make this a family thing, I was going to try and pick you and Nancy up for school and maybe we could’ve driven by your father’s work. Dinner at someplace nice.”

“We could, um. We could still do that,” said Mike. “The three of us. I heard Benny’s just opened up again, his sister runs it now.”

“The mood’s ruined.” The dam spilled over, much to Mike’s horror. Unbidden, the memory of Jennifer Hayes breaking down about her family troubles during a free talk in English class came to mind. He had been the one closest and he hadn’t known what to do then, and he didn’t know what to do now. “I just,” His mother reached up to swipe at her tears, “I don’t know. I hope you kids can deal with it once we actually separate.”

It’s been a long time coming, Mike thought, but it’s never been said aloud before. He had visualized this before, different scenarios wherein Ted or Karen would sit them down to finally break the news. He’d thought of who he’d end up staying with, if he would have to move from Hawkins to somewhere completely different like California or Chicago if one parent decided to pack up and leave town, like Max. If he’d be separated from his sisters or if they’d be allowed to stick together. If he would have the option to choose, unlike Max.

He doesn’t exactly feel sick, but cold inside. Hollow. It’s like simultaneously feeling everything (relief, sickness, wistfulness) and nothing all at once. 

Absentmindedly, Mike thought, _I should remember that so I can write it down sometime. Could use it in a story._

They sat in silence for a long time; Karen with her glass of wine and Holly ruining Mike’s old picture book, and Mike himself staring off into space, subconsciously picking at his nails and cuticles until blood bloomed from the edges.

The blood brings back some of the memories from the lab. The bleeding is minimal, but somehow he still feels like he can smell the thick metallic scent in the air. It’s gross and he feels like screaming, suddenly. Or throwing up.

(Karen and Ted’s divorce would be much, much later, more than a few years down the line when Nancy actually has a job and Holly is in high school. The word _separate_ sticks with Mike for a long time, though.)

**iv.**

El was silent for what felt like forever. Mike brushed off the blood bubbling from the side of his right thumbnail, fisting his fingers into the grass and ripping them up into shreds.

El leaned back gingerly on the side of Castle Byers, feeling if the sticks clumsily nailed together would hold. Mike glanced up at her and looked back down again when he realized she was a big grey and brown blur and that he was seeing her through watery eyes. “It’s my fault anyway too, it must’ve been real annoying. I.” He didn’t know how to continue without completely breaking down, so he just lowered his head, tried to get his fringe to fall into his eyes, hoping she doesn’t see that he’s beginning to cry and God forbid, pat his back awkwardly or anything.

“I’m angry and it’s not even her fault, I should be sorry. She doesn’t even have much people to talk to besides other moms on the PTA board and I’m here being a pain in the ass on top of Holly and Nancy. I’m probably the biggest one. This is worse than that time Nancy came home at midnight and wearing Steve’s sweatshirt, they practically woke the whole neighborhood up with that.” 

He knew he’d started rambling and he didn’t even have to glance back to know El was probably sporting a confused expression, because he started actually crying halfway through his spiel and about 80% of what he just said was probably incoherent. He saw a flash of Jennifer Hayes’ blotchy and wet face in English class in his mind’s eye and realized that it was what he must look like at the moment. “Shit.”

“It’s okay.” El offers, saying the words slowly. Her hand reaches out and rests between his shoulder blades. Mike tenses. “I understand, Mike.”

_El would understand. She always did._

Mike heard his own words echoed back at him and he swallowed. He didn’t feel the same sense of relief he did back then, when he was struggling to explain Troy or even the Snow Ball. He felt guilty immediately after the thought, chastising himself for setting expectations on Eleven. He’d spent so much time thinking and thinking, he’d overinflated and exaggerated until she was an idealized version in his head. Has she even had parental problems with Hopper? The two seemed to get along much better than Mike and his mother did. Did she really understand?

No. Bad thoughts. Shut up, Mike. It made the bottom of his stomach drop out in unease. He shouldn’t be mean about anything, especially to Eleven. 

“Thanks for listening, El. . .it means a lot. We should probably be getting back now,” Mike swipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and struggles to his feet.

“Yes,” Eleven agreed. She added, “You’re welcome.”

Mike attempted an awkward smile but judging by the minute widening of her already big brown eyes it looked more like a grimace.

The whole way back to Will's house, where Hopper was waiting, Mike and El walked in comfortable silence although Mike spent it replaying everything he’d ever said that day—snapping at Max at lunch, getting into an argument with Lucas over it, coming home to his mother’s stone cold silence. Finally begging Hopper over the phone to let him see El for a bit even if it wasn't on one of the scheduled days, Hopper finally agreeing when his voice betrayed him and cracked on the last syllable of his request.

He felt better about seeing El for a while, but started overthinking it once the day was over. He thought about it in bed, tossing and turning around so much that the sheets came loose and he could feel the bare mattress somewhere on his side. Just when he thought he couldn’t feel possibly more stupid than sitting in a blanket fort in his basement and pleading with the crackling static on a Supercom. He remembered Eleven actually heard him for all 353 days, and he groaned out loud and shook his head, reaching over to hook his thumb around his backpack strap and fumbling around for his Walkman.

**v.**

“Alright, asshole,” said Dustin, “We promised Max we’d let her join the party.”

“She’s in the party already Dustin, okay, I said sorry and we shook on it and everything.” 

“No, I meant like _the party_. Dungeons  & Dragons.”

“Oh.”

“So?” Dustin raised his eyebrows, an expectant look on his face. “Give me, like, an estimate. Two weeks? Three?”

“I haven’t really written anything since last year.”

“Do you not have any old campaigns you can write Max into?”

“It’d be pretty hard. A zoomer is a made up class, so we’d have to write a lot of backstory into it and make up stuff and everything. And if El decides she wants to join in too. . .” Mike looked away.  
“C’mon, man, it’s a tradition. You could scrap the zoomer thing and just make Max a fighter dwarf or something.”

“Have you met Max?”

“Okay, okay. Seriously, though. Just like, a Christmas special.” At Mike’s silence and fidgeting, Dustin groaned dramatically and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Jesus, Mike! Our friendship, our party, our _rules of law_ were founded on this game.” His hands let go and cupped Mike’s face when he tried to struggle. “Look me in the eyes, Michael. Look at me!”

“Oh my God.” Mike could see that some of the kids passing by were shooting them looks.

“Do you not want Max or, God, _El_ , to experience the game that founded the very pillars of our friendship? They’re out there, using D&D terms and our rules—“

“’ _Friends don’t lie_ ’ came from Will in fourth grade when we found out you lied about knowing Star Wars to get into our group.”

“We agreed never to speak of that!” cried Dustin, shaking Mike and pulling him forward. “Mike I swear to God, I will never, never, ask anything of you again. We need your abilities. Your _prowess_.”

“Big word, did you pick that up from Max? You’ve been using a lot of big words lately.” Mike quipped, getting uncomfortable with the intensity in Dustin’s eyes. He was getting awfully close.

“What the hell are you two doing?” said Lucas, finally arriving at the bike racks with Will in tow. 

“This asshole doesn’t want to write up a new campaign for the next session!” Dustin finally let go of Mike and gestured towards him.

Lucas’ face dropped and he turned to Mike, “Mike, c’mon. We _promised_.”

“Yeah, did you think of the weeks I’ll probably spend writing a new campaign when you made that promise?”

“Uh, we could help. . .” said Will. When Mike turned to him, he shrugged. “Or I could help you out with like, the plot or something. I know Max acts like we’re nerds and everything but she’s really excited about D&D. She always heard about that in California but none of the guys there would let her play with them.”

Shit. Mike scrunched his face up, kicking at the dirt, “Fine! Don’t ask me for a time estimate—“ He snapped at Dustin before he could start, “But I’ll come up with something. And I might need help with the maps, Will.”

“Thank you!” Dustin rushed forward, enveloping Mike in a hug. “I’ll never forget this!” 

Mike rolled his eyes, his mind flitting back to all the times Dustin had used the phrase “I will never ask anything of you again” or “I’ll never forget about this”.

**vi.**

“Hey, come in, it’s Mike.”

_“Man.”_ Lucas groaned over the Supercom. _“It’s 2 in the morning. Uh. Over.”_

Mike grimaces, forgetting that he was supposed to check the time before calling Lucas. “Sorry, didn’t notice. Hey, wait a minute. I know you can sleep through your radio. Why are you awake? Over.”

_“You first.”_

“Uh, couldn’t sleep. I. . .” Mike briefly considered pouring his heart out, then remembered El and the sobbing and the embarrassment. And Jennifer Hayes. “Yeah. Over.”

He thought he could’ve started the campaign or wrote or something, but told himself he’d wait until he got a nice, new notebook to write in after staring at the back page of his science notebook too long. He wasn’t making excuses or putting it off. Not really. The only nice notebook he had was a yellow hardcover journal that was a gift from his grandmother, and it only took a few minutes of flipping through some truly embarrassing diary entries before he felt like swearing off writing.

Lucas was silent for a little while. _“Yeah, sure. Well, I was reading this book Max gave me. Couldn’t put it down.”_

“Nice. . .Over.”

There was a long, awkward silence in which Mike felt incredibly stupid ( _Nice?_ Nice?!) and Mike would’ve thought that Lucas had put the Supercom away until he heard the crackling.

_“You know, a little earlier, I was digging through the closet to look for that Newton bookmark Dustin gave me, but instead I found some old stuff from elementary.”_

Over all the conversations they’ve had over the radio and Lucas’ stubbornness over the word “over”, Mike learned to sense when Lucas took pauses in between sentences or when he was waiting for him to ask. “What did you find?”

_“Remember third grade when we all decided we’d learn to draw along with Will? I found the Christmas cards.”_

“Shit.”

_“Man, Will’s was like, stick figures, but they were still miles better than yours.”_

“I don’t even remember that, over.”

As Lucas gleefully describes Mike’s kindergarten Christmas card, from the attempt at Yoda to the big red “I LOVE YOU LUCAS” filling the page, Mike settled down and pulled all the blankets over him, feeling like he could forget about his thoughts for a while and just listen.

He fell asleep like that, curled around his Supercom. It was the best sleep he’d had in a while. The next day at school, both Mike and Lucas showed up to school with matching bags under their eyes. When Dustin brought it up, Lucas shrugged it off and didn’t mention anything, launching into his rediscovery of Mike and Will’s Christmas cards as if he was telling it for the first time again.

**vii.**

_“Well, I’ve been afraid of changing. . .”_

“Oh my God. Mike.”

“Jesus, Dustin!” Mike sat up from his fetal position amongst the pillows and scrambled deeper into the blanket fort, hitting the button on the Walkman. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Are you crying?” Dustin asked incredulously, crawling into the fort despite Mike’s shoving. “We fit, shit man, we’re not that big. Quit hitting me!”

“I’m busy! What are you even doing at my house?”

“I smelled your mom’s cookies all the way from my place, you know I can’t resist.” Dustin laughed. “Yeah, no, I thought I could give back your math notes. Mrs. Wheeler said you were down here so I thought I’d say hello.”

“Oh.” Mike was trying to subtly angle his face so that the fringe covered his eyes. 

“This shit has to stop.” Dustin groaned, laying dramatically over Mike. “Even Will said you’re worse than Jonathan was at fifteen. Jonathan, Mike! Do you want to end up as a Jonathan?” 

“You talk about me when I’m not around?” Mike asked. He must’ve looked stricken, because Dustin cringed and shifted closer. “I’m not like Jonathan!”

“We’re all worried, okay? Even Eleven, dude.” Dustin adjusted his position until he was comfortably leaning on Mike. “You’re being all, I don’t know. Emo.”

“Emo?”

“That’s the only adjective I can summon besides ‘Jonathan’. Now spill, Michael. What’s the problem?”

“Nothing.” Mike was beginning to reach a point where he was ready to physically wrestle Dustin out of the blanket fort. “I don’t know, okay?”

“How can you not know?!”

“Don’t yell at me!”

“I’ll stop yelling when you tell me what’s wrong so we can fix it!”

Literally put in a corner, Mike just lost it and started crying again. At some point during the struggle the button on the Walkman had been hit and Landslide is playing softly from his headphones in the background. Mike couldn’t believe this was happening. 

“Dude!” Dustin looked alarmed and wrapped his arms around Mike on instinct. “Okay, okay, just cry it out, buddy. You’ll feel a lot better after.”

Mike struggled at first, trying to literally kick Dustin out of the fort, but Dustin won every single one of their wrestling matches from their younger years and it was apparent even now. “I don’t know,” His voice cracked on the last syllable.

This was the most embarrassing situation Mike has ever been in. He tried to tell himself it was okay, that maybe he could take this incredibly humiliating experience and write it into some coming-of-age story.

“Okay.” Dustin sounded like he was freaking out and his hold on him is a little awkward. Mike didn’t blame him. The image of Jennifer Hayes sobbing in English class was flashing through his mind again and he was pretty sure it was flashing through Dustin’s as well. 

“Shit.”

“It’s okay, Mike.” Dustin didn’t let go even when Mike tried to push him away. “Just like, breathe. It’s okay, you know I bawled my eyes out too, like, yesterday.”

“What?” Mike croaked out. 

“Yeah, really, my mom bought me a whole pack of Three Musketeers as a present for doing great at school. And I just lost it.” Dustin laughed. “I don’t even know if it’s because I missed Dart, or because I screwed up so bad on that, or because I felt guilty for missing him at all. I wasn’t listening to Fleetwood Mac while I was sobbing, though.”

Mike swallowed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and managing to slip a little from Dustin’s grip to grab for a handkerchief in his pocket. “I guess we’re all, um, fucked up.” He whispered the last part, feeling the blood rush up to his face. He’d never said the f word out loud to an actual person.

“Yeah.” Dustin smiled at him, and Mike could see some of his sadness reflected in his eyes. “Just gotta work through it, I guess. Hey?”

“Yeah?”

“You can talk to me, you know.” Dustin shifted uncomfortably, but held Mike’s gaze. “About anything. You’re my best friend, too.”

“Thanks.” Mike gave him a watery smile. He hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully. “I just. . .I don’t know why I still get sad sometimes. Honestly. . .” He almost trailed off but Dustin’s expression was open and encouraging. “I don’t know. I guess I thought that when El came back, everything would be great again. Like before. Except it. . .isn’t.”

Dustin made a ‘hm’ sound, nodding. “Yeah. I think nothing’s gonna go back to the way it was.”

There was something heavy in his tone that made Mike look down at him curiously and search his eyes. “You got something you wanna talk about too? Dart?”

Dustin grimaced. “No, I don’t know why we never talked about it before but. . .I’m really. I’m just bothered a lot, that, um, that day on the cliff.”

“Oh.” 

“I get a lot of nightmares about it,” Dustin barreled forward, “Like what would’ve happened if El came just a second too late. It drove me crazy last year.”

Mike didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if. . .if you died. For me. For—for my freaking baby teeth,” Dustin laughs, but the sound is wet and choked up. “Sometimes I felt like coming up to you and punching you in the face for being so stupid, or biking down to the quarry when I couldn’t sleep. But I’m way too scared to do that, the thought makes me want to puke.”

Mike felt tears well up in his eyes again, and he lunged forward and hugged Dustin before he could lose his nerve. “I told you. You’re my best friend too,” He forced out around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Dude,” Dustin laughed incredulously, “You’re apologizing to me for nearly dying for me.”

Mike snorted, and somehow that set them off into laughter. Mike didn’t completely understand why, but it was better than sobbing. 

“I thought I was coming over to give back your notes and maybe hang out a little. We just had a heart-to-heart like a couple of girls,” Dustin bent his head and swiped at his eyes. Mike just shook his head and laughed. Dustin smiled at him, and his eyes were nearly squinted closed. Mike’s heart melted, not unlike the time Holly gave him a clumsily made birthday card with a drawing of Rory the dinosaur on it. 

Dustin hugs him tight and insists on switching out the cassette. He tells Mike to stop listening to Landslide so much ( _“I read somewhere that music can actually affect moods and shit, so you gotta start listening to happier stuff, dude.”_ ) and they spend the rest of Sunday afternoon messing around with some of the old toys Mike had in the basement.

_**December, 1984** _

“I’ll wait with you,” Mike offered, smiling tentatively at El. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and hoped he looked cool. 

“Thank you,” El smiled back. Mike felt some warmth bloom in his chest, and he grinned at the ground. Will went back inside, presumably to help Jonathan and Nancy pack up his photography equipment. 

The silence that followed was comfortable and easy. Stretches of silence with El were never really awkward, even with someone like Mike. Mike didn’t have the energy to force a conversation and fill the silence like usual, but it was a good kind of energy drain. Eleven idly toyed with the ruffles on her dress. Mike found the polka dot design and fluffy skirt adorable, and absentmindedly noted to get Will to get some copies of the photos from the dance.

“I liked the sunshine song,” said El, tilting her face up. “What is it called?”

“Oh, the. . .” Mike thought for a moment. “Walking on Sunshine?”

“Yes.”

“I could get you a cassette or a vinyl from the record store, if you want. Do you have a Walkman?”

“No. Hop has a record player.”

“Oh, okay, a vinyl then.” Mike laughed. “Great, I’ve got a Christmas gift for you now.”

“Thank you, Mike.” Eleven smiled widely, exposing the small gaps in her teeth. Mike felt the blood rushing to his face and he felt like melting into the cracks on the sidewalk. 

El didn’t break the eye contact, continuing to survey his face for a moment longer. Her face relaxed and Mike thinks she looks like she’s found something in his expression. “Mike?”

“Uh. . .yeah?” He heard Hopper yell out in the distance, calling out that the car was ready now. El looked like she was about to start laughing, but not in the mean way. A happy way. Like when he’d first pulled the lever on the La-Z-Boy on their eyes had met over the armrest, El’s eyes brightening.

“I’m happy you’re home.”

Mike grinned at her so hard his cheeks hurt.

He made a mental note to write this moment down the minute he got home. He could use it for a story someday.


End file.
